danceoff (?!?)

Sorry to the roommates, but this post just had to happen (stolen picture, cause obviously I don't take pictures at parties; hell, I don't even handle cameras.) For those of you that don't know, the right (in direction only) one is Chris Butts, left is Mr. Jimmy. And from what I gathered about the event, this was a "danceoff."

Fuck those student stores fuckers

There are things about the student stores that I enjoy: it is perhaps the only location on campus that still sells Diet Coke, they have various types of Combos (one of the more perfect snacks made), any carolina shirt you could ever want, well, they have it. The enjoyment comes to an end right about the time you take that merchandise to the register, and encounter the 100% bastards that stand behind the counter. Yeah, they are bastards. Sorry if your friend (or lover, or whatever) works there, but they suck. I figured this out during the lovely summer session, as my coworker edmond and I continued my year-long tradition of visiting the "diet coke store" in the heat of the midday, after bringing in the goddamn pit tables (fuck the student groups too, who really needs more krispy kreme donuts?). This was our one little break from the shitheads that inhabit the management structure of the Union; obviously, I enjoyed it. Usually, a nice older dude runs the "pit stop", the part of the Student stores that is primarily concerned with selling snacks and drinks; the summertime has brought this trend to an end. Now, the outside door is usually closed, and we are forced to visit the assheads at the main counter. 1st visit: Edmond gets XXL and Dub, I get a diet coke and combos. We proceed to the register, where the dude leads off with "whoa, union guys, whats up at the Union??", like being paid by state of North Carolina made us friends and fellow coworkers. "Slow day at the Union? Do they just let you guys do whatever?" No, you dumbass, they actually let us out to eat every once in a while. "Hey, nice uniforms, you guys partners? Hey, do they really make you guys wear flair?" No, they don't like the buttons on my uniform, precisely why I still wear all 6 of them, fucker. "Hey, you ever see that movie Office Space, where they had to wear flair?" GODDAMN YES, WHO HASN'T. Instead of the graphic responses, I gave deadpan "yea" or "nah", making it obvious I was not interested in conversation. Edmond was already standing at the door, obviously we weren't tryin to hang out. After this visit, a few days passed without me working, but again, we found ourselves visiting the store (you expect me to drink Diet Pepsi all day?). Again, same stupid fucks working the counter. And as soon as we roll in, "Hey, Union guys again. You guys takin a break?" We were sweating from bringing in 13 pit tables in the damn 95 degree heat; obviously, we were taking a break. Then, the questioning preceded almost VERBATIM from the first episode. Hmm, imagine our suprise. When the guy asked if the flair meant I was higher ranking, I almost popped the fucker in the head with my DC (if it had been Diet Pepsi, game over). It's been decided that never again will we visit the Diet Coke store unless the pit stop part is open; I'm pretty sure fighting on the job will get us fired from the Union (not that Edmond would care, he goes to A&T, but some of us need shit jobs because we don't have the ambition to get better ones). If you go to the Stores, besides going to get fucked over on books (another reason to hate them), make sure to tell them to go to hell, courtesy of Union Operations.

the (2nd) 4th of July

This Instant message greeted me as I returned home from work:

BoudreauxMan (6:06:40 PM): phipps, i heard you were going to be in sparta over the weekend, i was thinking about having a july 4th celebration at the cabin

Auto response from Alleghany150 (6:06:40 PM): away as crap

BoudreauxMan (6:09:49 PM): here are the plans: July 2-Saturday, wake up relatively early and go canoing, tubing, etc. down the river while enjoying tasty beverages, cigerattes and maybe even some marijuana. when we reach our destination there will be coolers of beer waiting on us. our destination should be the cabin and we should have one hell of a july 4th bash on july 2nd, i've heard that there are going to be several people in town, so we need to get up with everybody

So the weekend of Sparta looks like a promising one, after all. I especially love the unbridled enthusiasm of Mr. Evans, planning a 4th of july celebration on the 2nd of july (pure sparta genius), as it's usually hard to get Spartans to get excited about a return trip. Also, it is funny as damnit that patrick misspelled cigarettes, but correctly spelled marijuana...

Potato Chips for sale

I guess I'm a pretty big fan of pizza as well.

King Cobra

For about one american dollar, you can purchase a 24 Oz. (to freedom) of King Cobra. I bought 4. In cause you wonder why, let me just say that the last searcyparty required it to happen. This party also required the discovery that snakes are, in fact, the worst fireworks the world has ever known (I'm not so sure that they should even be called "fireworks"). Another good idea is to put fireworks in a Harris-Teeter shopping cart, light them, then push them around (since fireworks can't fly in North Carolina). A requirement is for all random male members of the party to remove their requisite white T's. The party can't stop before 4am. And you can't eat afterwards. Basically, it's fuckin hardcore, bitches. You could even say, BOLD.

It's all over

169. Makes me wonder what could have happened if I had started studying before May 17th...


Dude searcy threw a goodass party, which now makes 2 weeks in a row that goodass parties were thrown by dude. King cobra and 40's all around.

He's obviously crazy; How can you not like Fruit loops?

So I read this story, which is one of the first in a while that actually made me laugh out loud (CNN usually doesn't produce comedy, unless it's unintended). But for some reason, some genius wrote this article for the AP about an upcoming GQ article on Saddam and his prison fare. Why this is newsworthy is not at first apparent, but allow me to share some nuggets:

"The Bush father, son, no good," Cpl. Jonathan "Paco" Reese, 22, of Millville, Pennsylvania, quoted Saddam as saying.

Saddam was friendly toward his young guards and sometimes offered fatherly advice. When O'Shea told him he was not married, Saddam "started telling me what to do," recalled the soldier. "He was like, 'You gotta find a good woman. Not too smart, not too dumb. Not too old, not too young. One that can cook and clean." Then he smiled, made what O'Shea interpreted as a "spanking" gesture, laughed and went back to doing his laundry in the sink.

For a time his favorite snack was Cheetos, and when that ran out, Saddam would "get grumpy," the story said. One day, guards substituted Doritos corn chips, and Saddam forgot about Cheetos. "He'd eat a family size bag of Doritos in 10 minutes," Dawson said.


I agree with the doritos, but damn, a bag in 10 minutes? And really, who is suprised that saddam would make a "Spanking" gesture in regards to women? Good to see that the most important part of our culture ( junk food) can transend the barriers with our most hated enemies (except fucking fruit loops).

buying books

So I felt the calling of the bookstore on sunday night; yes, I'm a book nerd. Thank damnit that the barnes and noble stays open till 11. Turns out, the B&N is the late night spot, due to the fact that they have a starbucks (and I guess exams help). Still, the rows of books are quite a thing to spend some time browsing, even if books are overpriced as hell these days (why can't the cheap editions be on books less that 100 years old?) My selections made, I proceeded to the counter to make a purchase. The less than attractive girl at the counter glanced over my two selections (Cat's Cradle by Vonnegut, which I have not read; Fahrenheit 451 by Bradbury, which I have), and sincerely asked if I would like to have them giftwrapped. Now, perhaps I missed something here. Maybe I read just a bit too much into this, but why is it that me, my typical unshaven self with unsophisticated white T-shirt, would need these giftwrapped? Ok then, bookbitch, I'm too dumb for these books to be for me. Guess I better go pick up some harry potter. This is why I hate going to these stores; that's why god made the internet.

Hello Downing street

First, read the Memo, then read this summation/reaction in the washington post. Why is it that we do not hear of these things in greater detail? Maybe this is indicative of a larger problem the democrats have, and the article hints at; this is a valuable tool for exploring just exactly how the decision to go to war was made, and what deceptions, if any, were used on the public. However, it seems the only reactions we can get from liberal sources comes either as silence or overraction, claiming a smoking-gun type of document, when it is probably the tip of the Iceberg, judging by the continuing leaks coming from the unnamed London source. Hopefully this will garner greater media attention now that the greatest question before the world (can a grown man sleep platonically with little boys?) has been laid to rest.

The fucking Road, my friend (This one is a bit long)

So, I have discovered why it is that people should go on trips; no matter how much you hear, read, watch, or think about a certain place, you will never discover how it is to actually be there. New Orleans is such a place. You would think that a place as famous as the big easy would be pretty much exactly like you imagine it: drunken, spicy, and humid as hell. On a trip of 1700 miles in the Explorer, we found out just how wildly unique that fucking place is, as well as discovering just how different Atlanta is as well. In terms of planning, this was not a well execuited trip; I forgot soap AND toothpaste, as well as any manner of raingear. The Wednesday of departure, I still had no sub for friday work, a fact that the managerial staff was not pleased with, but that would not derail the voyage. Neither would the curious automotive difficulties that blue decided she would pull on us before leaving, consisting of some sort of idling difficulty which forced me to keep my foot on the gas or the engine would stall (which makes for interesting stop-n-go traffic situations). Despite these difficulties, the voyage begain, out the door at 85 on the way to Atlanta and the campus of Georgia Tech, to hang out with engineers. Actually, it was a very cool friend of Mr. Findlay's who allowed us to sleep on his floor, drink with some weirdass people (those engineers can be pretty socially inept), and gave us a campus map with no streetnames, to aid in our exploration. Turns out, GT has our rec center beat, hands down. But before I forget a vital detail, let me just say that the trip owes a large debt to Taco Bell, 2 times in all. Also to krystal (love those little burgers), Mcdonalds, and Moe's burritos, all of which played a vital role. It becomes quickly apparent to a driver that the trip from Chapel Hill to Atlanta is much more entertaining that the trip from Atlanta to New Orleans. Sadly, Alabama and Mississippi do not hold much in the way of interstate entertainment; the highlight was passing the Boy Scouts of America headquarters and hearing chris say "Look how many boys are over there!" Mississippi doesn't even have bathrooms in its reststops; evidently they want you go hurry up and get the fuck through. Well fuck them, we aren't all visiting Mississippi, now are we? Hell no, we want to get to New Orleans, where the beads hang in the trees (for real, they are actually still in the trees), and the streets sink into the swamp (again, for real, the damn things have more potholes than a dirt road). Literally, the first thing that struck us as we drove into town, besides the lack of a major skyline (its no Atlanta), was the hellatious roads. The second was just how close together the houses are, with the streets, and the trees, and the general chaos that was driving down the streets with parallel parking. It was obvious that this city took a different approach; at one point, we saw a pothole large enough to place an orange construction barrel in (we knew it was this large because there actually was an orange barrel in it, in the middle of the street). I don't want to give you the impression I disliked the city, in fact, I loved it. But you simply can't imagine the attitude of the city; Stuart pointed out that many of the old building exist not because people have intentionally preserved them (though some have), but because no one ever got around to tearing them down and building new ones. We went to the resturants where gumbo came with bigass chunks of crab(shell and all), where they called spaghetti sauce was called "red gravy" (New Orleans has a large Italian population, who knew?). Stuart's house was in what I felt was a good neighborhood, but not 10 yards from his house stood a large and very cool looking graveyard, not a usual thing for a city neighborhood. You would pass houses worth millions, only to see the next one boarded up and empty. Then you roll to bourbon street, to drink anything you want on the street (we went with hand grenades and a bottle of southern comfort that we bought from the GROCERY STORE!!!), and only one street over from your drunken madness stands the Louisiana District Court building, which you can walk by with your huge beers. I can't do the French Quarter justice by describing it, you just have to look at the pictures, or better yet, visit for yourself. But try and get away from the tourist shit if you go, there is definately more to the town than one big drunken street (there are lots of kickass bars and resturants that don't live on bourbon street). There are also massive old houses, catholic schools that look like palaces, public schools that look like hell, Snowballs (a badass form of snocone), bars in old houses, bars with patios that put any chapel hill bar to shame, food you can't pronouce or understand, but will enjoy, and a hell of alot more. On the first night we were there, we went to a bar known as Ms. May's; teach for america's New Orleans group had chosen this bar as their congretation spot. It looks like the Public schools will be receiving about 80% hot white college girls as salvation. The trip home consisted of a longass drive in the pouring rain that darlin Arlene dropped on us, but another night in Atlanta and some more drinking with engineers made it all ok. I realize this post has been long as hell, and not really provided many quality details, but it's all too big to ever write here
(ask and i'll tell you all you'll ever want to hear). Basically, go to New Orleans, and if you live somewhere else that isn't CH, invite me to visit you, because I will damn sure come. As I woke up on our final day there, my mother called me a big worried; evidently, 2 seperate multiple fatality murders had occured, and a Tropical storm was on the way. That's New Orleans for you.

Guess we should have just called it Dumb and Dumber...

Not that I am any fan of W and his brand of genius, but I think this is one of those situations where the defintion of Irony is illustrated quite well. (Definiton in question, for all of you confused: incongruity between the actual result of a sequence of events and the normal or expected result) Guess we all better start worrying more about our Undergrad GPA's.

Me and Ms. Lewis (or how I learned to stop worrying and love the LSAT)

Ray isn't the movie to watch before you take the biggest test of your life. Jamie Foxx is a hell of an actor, but damn, Ray was sleazy, man. As I sat on the couch, starting to get a case of the nerves, it reminded me of stretches before a game; you have the butterflies, you can see the crowd coming in, and you are second guessing yourself like a nervous middle-schooler trying to touch your first boob (will she let me? will she hate me?). Then, something happens to break the mood; My something was Dave Chapelle...Killing them Softly...at 12am. Like the first hit, butterflies disapeared. And what a good thing that was, because 9:30 came on like a hustling linebacker to a G105 soundtrack (I've always held the opinion that the worse the music, the faster you get up). After frosted miniwheats, an apple, and the obligatory 3 cigarettes, I was ready to roll. Unfortunately, it was 10:30; that's 2 hours too early. So here I am, calling Karmen, eating an apple, brushing the teeth, sitting on the picnic table with the iPod, utilizing the magic of Sublime. After an uneventful trip past the biscuitvilles and seafood places of downtown Durham, we roll up, park in a handicapped space (Karmen has a placard, haha) and walked up. Turns out, you don't even get to go in the DOOR till 12:30...and it was 93 fucking degrees outside. Yall know how I love heat and humidity. Wonderfully, if you have a name after O, you get to wait longer(fucking P names, phipps be damned). So I'm cooking in the sun, making smalltalk to defuse the recurring nerves, and wondering why in god's holy name I am standing on a brick patio in the middle of the day. As they take my THUMBPRINT, I realize it might be a while till I get out of here. Thats an understatement of epic proportions. And then Ms. Lewis walked into my life. An older black lady with her hair in a bun and glasses with one of those old lady chains around them (I guess people do wear those), and a voice that reminded me of my old bus driver telling us all to sit down and shut the hell up. Proctoring the LSAT was to her the highlight of the summer, evidently. BUT, that meant taking forever on every reading section she had to do out of the book (always adding some local color, obviously) and making the test last an amazingly long SIX HOURS!!! How does it make it that long, you ask? Well, first off, Norman Miller was our assistant proctor, and evidently, he had never before graced the halls of LSAT administration. He was not at all gifted in the art of assistance, and we suffered immensely. But once the exam began, it was like a special kind of zone, one that included a terribly designed yellow desk chair, that swiveled, rotated, and pivoted, none of which I desired during the actual test administration. After I dealt with the backpain that the wonderful yellow chairs induced, it was automatic. Not bragging; I probably owe a few people some drinks right now (made a few wagers on the outcome) but after you take a few, it gets to the point where you don't really care, you just fill in the ovals. Then, you realize your hand is cramping up...and what the hell do you do about that?? Well, you stretch it out, pray to god that it doesn't keep you from finishing (turns out quite a few people threw up prayers for me, thanks yall) and basically just turn into a robot. But the best part is the end. Of course, they have to count the total exams, check your ID's again, and generally make it difficult to leave the exam room. But once you walk out, the air is sweeter, the sun is brighter, the air is warmer (well no shit, it was cold as hell in the test room), and basically any other rip off of Fight Club you can think of. Truly, if you would like to appreicate your humanity, take an exam of the type that will decide your life; you definitely won't have a problem getting drunk afterwards...

It's coming...

The LSAT concern level has been elevated from Green to Orange (elevated consumption of caffenated beverages, smoking of cigarettes sporatically in the daytime, hightened desire for Taco Bell). I shouldn't have drank three blue cups last night, randomly IMed people, and spent the day in the office talking to Edmond and Liz. But procrastination got me this far, so why not dance with the one that brought you?